


Hot Honey Rag

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: High School Musical
Genre: F/F, Fingerfucking, Plot What Plot, Porn Battle, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharpay helps Gabriella get in character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Honey Rag

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle IX, prompts: short skirts, rivalry

“No, no, Gabriella, could you… Could you look that way, tilt your head a bit? No, I don’t think so… How about if you sit over here?”

Sharpay has been studying her nails for the past eight minutes, if the clock on the wall is correct and not purposely dragging its hands in some conspiratory way to prolong her torture. Below the clock, Parker is directing Gabriella into various positions around the dressing room (which is right now curtain-draped so to pass for a hammy amateur photography studio), and Sharpay is fairly sure that if they don’t get their act together within the next ten seconds, at least one person will leave the room crying.

Considering how long it takes Parker to set up her camera, the brief joy to be gained from sending her off with a whimper and a wail just did not seem worthwhile.

“Maybe we could try something different?” Parker says sheepishly, ready to lead Gabriella to yet another set-up, and that is _it_.

Sharpay has no choice but to squeal her wrath. “Enough!”

Both girls turn to her with identical wide-eyed looks of surprise.

“You, get out! Out, now!” A perfectly-manicured finger points straight at Parker, who flinches from its whip-like effect.

“I’m sorry, Miss Evans…” Parker starts on the groveling apology, but Sharpay just isn’t in the mood.

“I don’t care! You, out! This instant! That means right now!” Sharpay keeps her eyes trained on Parker until she’s whimpered all the way out of the room. Parker locks the door behind her, meaning that she has at least two brain cells in that head of hers.

“That wasn’t nice,” Gabriella says, because redundancy is her forte. “Parker’s trying her best.”

“Parker may be trying her best, but the one who’s messing things up today is _you_,” Sharpay snaps, enjoying the way Gabriella’s eyes go wider like her personal goal is to one day beat Bambi at his own game. “Don’t give me that look, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

The truth of the accusation sinks in and Gabriella’s shoulders droop. She’s smart enough to recognize her own shortcomings, at least. “I know. It’s just…” She bites her lip, and, seriously, the kicked puppy look does not do her any favors.

“Oh my god, do you even know who you’re supposed to be?” Sharpay stands up, because there are some things that one does not sit for. “You’re Roxie Hart! Roxie Hart seizes the day by the freaking balls and squeezes until opportunities fall at her feet! Do you even know what I’m talking about?”

Gabriella’s eyes dart around nervously. “I watched the movie?”

Sharpay feels herself drifting sideways, hands flailing helplessly in the air until her hip hits the edge of her chair and she sinks into it. “Why. Why me? Why do I get stuck with _this_ the year the school board finally decides it can stage something befitting my talent?” She narrows her eyes, and though the look has made many tremble in their pathetic little sneakers, Gabriella annoyingly meets her gaze dead-on. “Why do you exist?”

“So to remind _you_ that you’re not the only talented person in school,” Gabriella says, with far too much chirpiness than is right. “We are co-stars—”

“Like hell we are!”

“We are,” Gabriella insists, the faintest start of a frown on her otherwise placid face. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d treat me as such.”

“I would,” Sharpay says sweetly, “If you would prove yourself to have even a tablespoon of worth for the role you’ve won. Just because you’re the only other person in a five-mile radius who can carry a decent tune – if the acoustics of the room are in your favor, of course – that doesn’t mean you actually deserve it.”

“I haven’t heard you make any comments during rehearsals,” Gabriella points out.

“That’s because there’s no point.”

“Oh! You’d prefer it if I screw up!” Gabriella actually covers her mouth as she says this, like the concept of Sharpay quietly awaiting the downfall of another is so shocking. Actually, considering how passive such a strategy that is, it _is_ kinda shocking. “That’s why you haven’t said anything!”

Sharpay sighs. “Let’s just make sure Parker gets the pictures she needs for the poster and then we’ll never have to talk to each other outside of rehearsals ever again. Capisce?”

“I’m trying my best,” Gabriella insists. “This isn’t anything like last year’s musical.”

Sharpay’s sure that the little fluttery thing she’s doing with her eyes is the reason that everyone else in school falls all over themselves trying to pleasure her, but all it’s doing right now is making Sharpay snort unattractively, because, hello, inappropriate. “That’s why it’s called _acting_. Does it disturb your delicate sensibilities to play such a role?”

“Of course not,” Gabriella raises her chin. “I consider it a challenge.”

“Then show me,” Sharpay sits up and crosses her arms, every inch the critic with claws. “I’m your audience. Convince me that you’re Roxie.”

There’s a moment of uncertainty on Gabriella’s face – this isn’t rehearsals, and she doesn’t have the guidance and stupid unconditional support of her friends – but then her expression clears. Her eyes slowly drift close, the actress side of her reaching inside for whatever inspiration it is she calls on. It’s very simplistic, and Sharpay almost laughs at the sight of it.

The eyes draw open, and Gabriella starts singing. “The name on everybody’s lips is gonna be—”

“Not yours,” Sharpay cuts in, enjoying the way Gabriella wavers and breaks what little character she had going. “Certainly not Gabriella, with that level of performance.”

“Well, you’re the one who’s had years of training,” Gabriella huffs. “This is still new to me.”

“Exactly,” Sharpay says. She makes a show of studying her nails, waiting for Gabriella to take a pleading step forward.

Doe eyes are looking down at her. “You know… If you help me, it’ll make _you_ look good, too.”

It’s a nice strategy, not that it’d work, because Sharpay Evans _always_ looks good. She is feeling generous today, though, because poor dear Gabby is so obviously in over her head that it’s a delightful little ego boost to be able to share her knowledge with someone so incompetent.

“Close your eyes.” When she complies, Sharpay continues, “Now find your inner diva.”

“You mean, pretend to be you?” Gabriella’s opened an eye, and seems to be laughing.

“You only wish you could be as fabulous as me,” Sharpay says airily. “But if that’s what works for you, go ahead. Pretend, and then sing.”

This time Gabriella makes it to the end of the lyric before Sharpay’s snapping her fingers, annoyed.

“Only you could make Fosse boring, I swear,” Sharpay sighs. “Close your eyes again. Just breathe.”

Gabriella looks at her skeptically, but she does as she’s told, breathing slow and deep for the next couple of heartbeats. Sharpay waits for her face to clear, inner self blanking out and, hopefully, preparing itself to be receptacle for some helpful Evans pep talk.

“You are a goddess,” Sharpay says, using her easy indoor voice that has curled many an ear. “You are beautiful. You are sexy. You are worshipped by everyone who meets you. People you’ve never met desire to breathe the same air as you. People travel from the world over to feast their eyes on you. You are powerful.”

Gabriella’s gone very still.

Voice barely above a whisper, Sharpay commands: “Sing.”

Gabriella’s eyes open slowly, eyelashes heavy and song on her lips.

The change is startling. It isn’t Gabriella standing before her anymore; this is someone older, worldlier, more confident. Her voice is husky – not sultry enough to be perfect for the role, but just enough to tease, suggestive honey dripping from the words.

She’s moving now, body slipping easily into to the choreography of the piece. As she dances, Sharpay finds it interesting that Gabriella’s fingernails seem pointier, her mouth more plush, her skirt shorter, and her legs longer as they slide open and lower their owner into Sharpay’s lap.

The number does have a chair, but it’s not supposed to have someone in it.

That seems to shake Gabriella out of the moment, eyes blinking quickly as the character drifts away.

“Oh.” Gabriella’s flushes, obviously embarrassed but apparently too surprised to jump away.

Sharpay laughs, a hand reaching out to clutch Gabriella’s elbow and keep her there. She knows she’s seeing something very rare here – something that’s possibly never even existed before – and it’s a delightful thing to see.

“So that was okay?” Gabriella shifts a little like she wants to pull away but can’t figure out how.

“For a beginner,” Sharpay concedes.

That makes Gabriella’s cheeks go pinker. She purses her mouth for a moment and then, using her Roxie voice now that she knows what it’s supposed to feel like from her throat, says, “You’re yesterday’s news, Velma.”

Sharpay has been acting before she could walk, which is why she doesn’t flinch when surprise – and something else – slice right through her all the way down to her dance shoes.

Velma Kelly slides right on like a comfortable coat.

“You think you’re the next hot thing, don’t ya?” Sharpay drawls. “Let me tell you, kid, they ain’t gonna remember ya in the morning if you don’t improve your act.”

Gabriella draws Roxie Hart closer and replies, “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Maybe the production can be saved, after all.

Sharpay would never say that out loud, of course, but she’s marveling at it, already imagining the curtain calls and flower bouquets, which is why she isn’t expecting it when Gabriella moves in her lap, and there’s the faintest touch of something damp against her thigh.

Gabriella freezes, eyes wide and looking very much like she would appreciate dying immediately on the spot.

“Hmm,” Sharpay says, because this _is_ a surprise. Gabriella is human after all. Sharpay was starting to think that she’d Enchanted her way out of some fairy kingdom somewhere.

“Oh, I…” Gabriella reaches up to touch her hair, hands shaking. “It’s the character, I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Sharpay say. “I know I’m hot.”

Gabriella chokes out a laugh, apparently more startled at that response than anything else so far. She relaxes just a fraction, and that’s Sharpay’s cue to rest her other hand on a tantalizing knee.

Contrary to Sharpay’s expectations, Gabriella doesn’t shake the hand off. She’s biting her lip, though, and tentatively raises her chin to meet Sharpay’s eyes; still waiting for guidance, it seems.

Well, why not?

Sharpay lets her hand travel up, fingers flicking the skirt’s tassels out of the way and then sliding under cloth. Sure enough, Gabriella is wet, dampness seeping through her panties, and isn’t that just a kicker. Sharpay lets her fingers run over the cloth lightly, just enough to tease, and that has Gabriella pushing her hips forward only to stop suddenly, guilt all over her face.

“Oh, please.” Sharpay rolls her eyes. “This isn’t something to be ashamed of.”

“I didn’t…” This is possibly the look Gabriella had on her face when she decided to audition for last year’s Spring Musicale; the girl _does_ do whimsical when it suits her. Gabriella lifts her hands and lets them rest on Sharpay’s shoulders, the touch light enough to show that she won’t keep them there if they aren’t welcome.

“Relax,” Sharpay says, suddenly curious what other expressions Gabriella has in her repertoire. Under the skirt, she hooks a finger on the inner edge of Gabriella’s underwear and tugs, just enough that there’s space for her hand to slide against the skin that is her goal. “Think of it like being on stage.”

“What?” Gabriella’s mouth twitches, unsure whether to laugh. “I’m not going to imagine I’m on stage.”

“I meant the rush,” Sharpay clarifies. “It’s like the rush you get when you’re in your spotlight, performing on stage.”

Gabriella _is_ in a spotlight of a kind now, because Sharpay can’t look away as she does this, pushing her fingers against the warm flesh and stroking through the tantalizing wetness. This is the kindest Sharpay has ever been with Gabriella, gentle in touch the way she can never be with words. At the same time, it’s still a selfish sort of kindness, because Sharpay feels little pulls of greed for the way Gabriella pants and sighs – softly, like she’s still not sure she’s allowed.

Sharpay wants more.

“Okay, this may be uncomfortable,” she warns.

Gabriella nods anyway, permission freely given. She blinks rapidly but does not protest when Sharpay eases her way through the inner folds, finding her slit and pressing a thumb against the opening. She rolls her thumb there, easy through the generous slickness, and when there is enough – when Gabriella looks relaxed and ready – Sharpay presses the tip of a finger up and in.

It’s a tight fit, but the wetness overrides that for now. In no time Sharpay has that fingertip pumping gently, slow and deliberate in its exploration of the inner walls.

“Oh, that’s…” Gabriella swallows, hips shifting to meet the ride of finger pressing in her. “That’s different.”

Sharpay considers teasing her, but it’s too easy. Gabriella just doesn’t realize how hungry she is for it; she’s way too wet, leaking freely down to Sharpay’s thigh while her body shifts closer in a blatant craving for _more_.

She might as well continue the trend of generosity for today, so Sharpay pushes the rest of her finger in, pausing only when the muscles clench tightly, waiting for that to pass and the rest of her to open up, which it does. By now Gabriella has parted her legs wide and is gently riding Sharpay’s thighs, pulling that offered finger in as far as it will go.

Soon enough Sharpay doesn’t have to do anything anymore – Gabriella is pretty much fucking herself on to Sharpay’s hand – but she rolls her finger around anyway, rubbing the inside and twisting just so, pleased when Gabriella has to bite off a moan in response.

It looks like it won’t be long now, so Sharpay stiffens her finger, keeping it straight as it slides in deep, speeding up the rhythm and forcing Gabriella to follow. A few more quick stabs and there’s a tell-tale shudder, so Sharpay pushes her finger in as far as deep as she can, _crooks_, and that’s all she wrote.

Okay, perhaps Gabriella _does_ have a pretty voice, under the right circumstances.

While Gabriella shudders her way back to Earth, Sharpay vaguely thinks that she’s relieved that she never pounced on Troy once he was made available – and then she feels pity, because it’s obvious the poor boy never knew what he had, because he did, he never would’ve let this go.

More for Sharpay, then.

“Can you hand me my bag?” Sharpay asks, gesturing at her Hermes. “There’s some wet wipes inside.”

Gabriella finally gets out of Sharpay’s lap to get the bag, thoughtfully rummaging through it to find and hand over said wet wipes.

Gabriella takes a shaky breath, fingers clenching and unclenching restlessly. “Sharpay, should I—”

“It’s okay, no big,” Sharpay says, because she’s still an actress and will not let on that she’s probably soaked through to her costume as well.

She’s busy plotting how to sneak the dress out of school for dry cleaning when there’s a knock at the door. Gabriella can get it and goes to do just that; Sharpay needs to organize the logistics of getting the outfit to her car without alerting that annoying girl – Felix, Felicity, whatever – who’s in charge of costumes this year.

“I’m sorry,” comes Parker’s voice. “I just… I went upstairs and Dina saw me and made me come back to—”

“It’s okay,” Gabriella says.

The tone makes Sharpay look up sharply.

Gabriella is smiling kindly at Parker, assuring her that everything’s sorted out now and the photoshoot can continue, but what has Sharpay’s attention is not the conversation, but Gabriella herself.

Steady, poised, controlled.

_Good._

This is the Gabriella who looks like she’d faint if sex were even mentioned within earshot.

Parker walks past, ready to fiddle around with the lights, and that leaves Sharpay free to look up at her co-star.

Who looks right back at her, mouthing “Later” around a perfect Roxie Hart smile.


End file.
